A comedic skit

Joon-ho and I sit in our shelter, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. The air is heavy with the unspoken thoughts of the day's events. Outside, the world lies in silence, a silence that seems to echo the desolation that has befallen humanity.

Breaking the silence, Joon-ho looks at me with a questioning gaze. "What do you think happened to the government? And the rest of the world?"

I lean back, my mind sifting through the fragmented information I have gathered over my repeated experiences in this dystopian world. "The South Korean government is in exile in Busan," I start, my voice low. "But they're not strong enough to reclaim the country from the infected. They're struggling just to maintain some semblance of order in the areas they control."

Joon-ho's expression turns pensive as he absorbs this information. "And the rest of the world? Are they facing the same situation?"

I nod solemnly. "From what I've gathered, it's a similar story elsewhere. Governments and military forces worldwide have been overwhelmed. Some regions are holding out better than others, but overall, it's chaos. Infected zones, no-go areas, small enclaves of survivors... it's a global collapse."

Joon-ho exhales slowly, his eyes reflecting the flickering light. "And how long does this last? Is there any chance of things getting back to normal?"

I hesitate, my thoughts drifting back to my previous experiences in this nightmarish cycle. "In my past attempts to survive, I've seen this status last for more than five years. But I've never made it beyond that point, so I can't say what happens after. Whether there's a turnaround or further decline, it's hard to tell."

The room falls silent again as we both contemplate this grim reality. The idea that we could be facing years of this desolate existence is daunting, yet it is our current truth.

Joon-ho finally speaks, his voice tinged with a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "So, we just keep surviving, day by day?"

"That's all we can do," I reply, my gaze fixed on the dimly lit space in front of us. "Stay alive, stay safe, and adapt. Maybe one day, we'll see a change, or perhaps we'll be the ones to initiate it."

"Do you think it's a good idea to join a bigger group of survivors?" he asks, looking at me. "Maybe there's safety in numbers."

I let out a slow breath, considering his question. It is a topic I have wrestled with before, in previous experiences in this chaotic world. "It's not a straightforward answer," I begin, my gaze meeting his.

"In the past, I've been part of larger groups. Yes, there's a certain safety in numbers, more hands to defend the shelter, and more skills and knowledge pooled together. But there are downsides, too."

Joon-ho leans in, listening intently. I continue, "Large shelters can become targets. They're harder to conceal and more likely to attract the attention of both the infected and hostile survivors. And the resources – food, water, medicine – they get stretched thin very quickly when you have many mouths to feed."

I pause, recalling the hardships and eventual downfall of the larger groups I had been part of. "Every time I was in a big shelter, it was always the same story. We were either run down by hordes of infected or torn apart by internal conflict over dwindling resources. And when you have so many people to look out for, making quick, life-saving decisions becomes incredibly complicated."

Joon-ho nods slowly, digesting the information. "So, being just the two of us... it's actually an advantage in some ways?"

"In some ways, yes," I confirm. "We're more agile, less noticeable. We can make quick decisions without a lengthy debate. Our survival depends on our wits, our ability to stay hidden, and our skills. In a large group, those factors can get diluted."

He sighs, a look of understanding in his eyes. "It's just... the idea of having more people around, a sense of community, it's appealing."

"I get that," I say softly. "I miss that too. But right now, our priority is to survive, and that might mean staying small and mobile. Maybe one day, when things are more stable, we can consider joining a larger group. But for now, we need to focus on keeping ourselves safe."

Joon-ho nods again, more firmly this time. "Alright. We'll keep doing what we're doing. I trust your judgment on this."

The soft hum of our shelter's CCTV system is a constant in the background, a reminder of the ever-present need for vigilance. It is during one of our routine checks that Joon-ho suddenly stiffens, his eyes fixed on one of the monitors.

"Look," he says, pointing to the screen. "There's a group approaching."

I lean in, observing the grainy figures moving towards our location. Without a word, I grab the remote control for the drone, sending it up to get a better view of the approaching group. The drone's camera feed comes to life on our main monitor, showing a clearer picture of what is unfolding.

As the drone hovers discreetly above, the absurdity of the situation becomes apparent. The group, seemingly oblivious to the dangers of the world, is engaged in what looks like a comedic skit, laughing and performing in front of the dilapidated buildings. One of them is holding a camera, presumably recording their antics for some short-form social media platform.

Joon-ho watches in disbelief. "Are they serious? In the middle of all this?"

I'm not as surprised. "I've seen this before," I say, my voice tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "Some people can't let go of the old world. They think this apocalypse is temporary, a chance to grab some fame while they can."

Joon-ho shakes his head, still struggling to comprehend the scene. "That's... it's insane. Don't they realise the danger they're in?"

"Some do, some don't," I reply. "Or they choose to ignore it. In their minds, the rules haven't changed. But they're playing a dangerous game. Attracting attention in a world like this can be fatal."

We continue to watch as the group, lost in their own world, comes closer to our shelter. Their laughter and voices, so out of place in the desolation that surrounds us, create a surreal tableau.

As the drone follows their progress, we sit in silence, the absurdity of the situation a stark contrast to the daily struggle for survival. In a world where every day is a fight to stay alive, the sight of people clinging to a long-gone reality is both bizarre and strangely poignant.

The group continues their approach, oblivious to the watchful eyes observing them from a distance.

"We should do something," I murmur.